Ten Count
by bitter-alisa
Summary: 10 tiny random ficlets, 10 (mostly) random slash pairings. T for profanity.


This is one of those random fic challenges. I am fully aware no one does those anymore, but well, I was incredibly bored and digging through old fanfics I discovered this challenge. The rules were:

1. Write down the names of 10 characters.

2. Write a fic of ~200 words for every prompt, using the characters determined by the numbers.

3. Do NOT read the prompts before you do step 1.

Characters:

Raven

CM Punk

Randy Orton

Dolph Ziggler

AJ Styles

Jeff Hardy

John Cena

Seth Rollins

Dean Ambrose

Colt Cabana

* * *

**1. First time, 4 and 6** (Jeff Hardy/Dolph Ziggler)

"I can't fucking believe you've never done this before. You! Of all people!" Amusement overshadows disbelief after Nick pulls away from one very much heated kiss.

"_Of course_ I have kissed a guy before," Jeff rolls his eyes at him, he's not particularly fond of being made fun of, especially by cocky blond kids who imagine they're the hottest thing this world has to offer.

"I'm not talking about kisses, Skittles, you seem fairly experienced in that," Nick rolls his eyes right back at him, still amused, considerably more than he should be. "Jesus, what have I gotten myself into? I run for the next hottest guy in the company, and what do I get? A blushing maiden."

"Hey! I might not have slept with a guy, but I'm not blushing and I'm most _certainly _no maiden!"

"Prove it then," and although the hand creeping almost shyly under his trunks isn't all that much of a proof, Nick is sure he's about to get some in very foreseeable future.

* * *

**2. Angst, 7** (John Cena)

To everyone else it was the best fucking promo in ages, earth-shattering and oh so very badass, but John knows and Punk knows that John knows that it all was just a very poorly veiled version of _fuck this, I'm outta here_. The "out of here" being the WWE, wrestling in general and his, John's, bed.

They'd been talking a lot about retiring together one day and living their well-deserved happily ever after somewhere in Tampa or Chicago, but now those talks are worthy about as much as the championship belt laying somewhere between the cans of Pepsi in Punk's fridge.

They are both so fucking tired of all this, the company mistreating them and management together with the creative being a completely unbearable pain in the ass, but John Cena never thought that CM Punk would get this tired of him too.

* * *

**3. AU, 1 and 8** (Raven/ Seth Rollins)

Literature clearly wasn't the favorite subject neither for him nor for his students. Why on earth did he agree to be a substitute remained a fucking mystery to Scott Levy, he'd never been all that passionate about teaching, especially not when trying to convey the depths of Edgar Allan Poe's poetry to the class of the worst scum of the earth, most of them repeating the last year of high school for a third year in a row.

"So," he croaked, looking over the half-empty classroom. Mere fifteen minutes of class were left and Scott was sure he wasn't the only one counting _seconds _till its end. "I assume none of you dipshits have read the poem yet."

"I think it's very unprofessional of you to call us dipshits, _sir._"

"I think you should raise your fucking hand before speaking, Rollins." Well, maybe there _was _a reason he accepted his colleague's cry for help and took the burden of educating this class on his shoulders. Of all obnoxious cocky bastards this one was the cockiest, and the fact that he actually possessed more than half a brain made Scott intrigued. He took a pause. A mildly entertaining idea crept into his mind.

"Since none of us obviously gives a shit about this whole thing you can get out of here." He enjoyed an uproar his words have caused before speaking up again."Except for you, Rollins. Detention. For being a smartass."

"So about that poem," Scott grinned admiring the mixture of terror and fake bravado on Seth's face as his mates left the classroom. He put the book down on his desk and approached his student. "Quoth the Raven," his grin grew wider, "Nevermore."

* * *

**4. Threesome, 3, 6, and 9** (Randy Orton/Jeff Hardy/Dean Ambrose)

"It was just every bit as good as I expected," Jon proclaimed, lighting up a cigarette and earning an annoyed frown from both Jeff and Randy. The two have been battling this bad habit for years and the mere sight of smoking Jon irked them to no end. "I understand your fascination over his sweet ass now. No wonder you've been mourning about it ever since he left the company."

"Told you so," a lazy smile creeped over Randy's face.

"Actually made it worth the embarrassment of showing up in the TNA locker room to retrieve him."

"_Almost_, yeah."

"Hey, don't you demean our little slut here! I personally think we should come back over some time. Or I should. He's lovely; you, Orton, not so much."

"I am so royally screwed," Jeff sighed, not really complaining. Catching up with the old flame of his was always worth the bother and the soreness afterwards, and the treats he's taken into bringing him lately make it all that much better. Like this little tart. "Gimme that," he snatched the half-smoked cigarette from Jon's long fingers. "You're always welcome to come back, darlin'"

It was now Randy's turn to sigh and quirk an eyebrow at the two. Yet another unlikely match made in his bed, and he couldn't help but to think that maybe this one would finally last.

* * *

**5. Hurt/Comfort**, 5 and 10 (AJ Styles/Colt Cabana)

"He is my friend too, you know. You have no right to act as if this affects only you."

Colt Cabana throws an off-side glance at AJ, a glace so similar to the one Punk usually gives him, _his _Punk, _his _look, now all gone and lost, and although he would really like to blame Raven for stealing Punk from him, it is mostly his own fault.

"Stop it, Cabana. You're mourning him as if he's dead." AJ Styles is never the one to give up easily, or at all, this somehow reminds Colt of Punk too, but then again, doesn't everything?

"He might as well be," he mutters under his breath and feels AJ's hand over his shoulders, pulling him closer. An unlikely comfort, but not an unwelcome one, so he buries his face in AJ's chest and almost enjoys the sensation of a feather-light kiss placed on the top of his head.

A rebound of a rebound, the irony of the situation isn't completely lost on Colt, AJ definitely deserves better, but when he turns around in the embrace and looks into his eyes, he thinks that there just might be something more to that.

Eventually.

Maybe.

* * *

**6. Crack fic, 1 **(Raven)

The life behind the bars of the animal shelter was certainly better than the one outside on the streets, he thought. At least the food was regular and it wasn't raining, and now with the fleas gone too, he felt like he could live again.

He watched with amusement how his inmates always tried to impress the humans when they'd come over, purring and meowing and trying to look as cute as it was possible; that wasn't something _he_ would do, he usually would curl up in the back of his cage, black fur almost invisible in the dark, because who would like to adopt an old battle-rugged cat who even in his younger days wasn't something people would like to bring to their neat, clean houses?

…That human in front of his cage was standing there for way too long. He was staring at him, so Raven stared back, all the tattoos and long black hair on the human hinting that he probably wasn't the one to have a nice clean house in the first place.

"My last pet died on my hands," the human said, not addressing anyone in particular. "And it wasn't even my dog. I'm not overly fond of dogs to begin with."

_Neither am I, _Raven would say, _but one dog seemed to be rather fond of my ear._

Human kept staring at him.

Raven kept staring back.

"The problem with dogs is that they don't really have a personality. You, on the other hand, do. So, you think we can make it work?"

* * *

**7. Horror, 10** (Colt Cabana)

There is nothing scary in all those horror movies Punk would watch with him over and over again, shitty horror movies at that, yet Punk would scream and gasp, mostly for the comedic effect, but Colt would see that there were moments what Punk would be really, truly scared.

His place then would be to sit still, let himself to be cuddled against, when Punk wants to cuddle you don't even fucking move and enjoy the moment because it's not gonna happen any time soon again.

All the blood and gore and ghosts and vampires, that is silly, it's not real and doesn't have any impact on his life whatsoever. What is, in fact, pretty damn terrifying – and, to make matters worse, very much real – is the fact that Punk was supposed to be home an hour ago, he hasn't slept for two days and still decided and it's dark outside and Colt doesn't even know whether he's dead or just busy or maybe he decided to crash at some hotel, and there is no fucking way to find that out, since the fucker isn't picking up his phone.

No, there is absolutely nothing scary in horror movies. Real life is considerably more horrifying.

* * *

**8. Baby fic, 5 and 9 **(AJ Styles/Dean Ambrose)

"Three kids, AJ. Three. Who the fuck has three children nowadays in the first place?" Jon gives AJ an exasperated look. "I'm pretty sure you didn't miss sex ed in high school. I mean, protection and all that."

"God has intended me to have three children, Jon. Who am I to deny His will?" AJ's voice is serious and stern; this is one of the topics Jon has learned never to touch, but now with the perspective of being left alone to babysit three little monsters while AJ is off for the tour he can't help himself but to grumble. He always disliked children, but that was a package deal, take it or leave it, and having AJ was usually worth the suffering. Not that he would ever stop bitching about it.

"Did your sweet, sweet god also make your bitch of a wife leave you with three parasites? Is that his idea of fun?"

"Don't be childish, Jon. You know I wouldn't ask you that if I could trust someone else with them. But I can't."

They stare at each other for a long while, till their expressions begin to soften.

"Just be happy my sister's kids aren't coming over in the foreseeable future," AJ smiles.

"Thank God. Does my place look like fucking kindergarten to you? Lemme tell you – it does not. Why am I doing this at all?"

"Because you love me."

* * *

**9. Dark fic, 2 and 8** (CM Punk/Seth Rollins)

"The fuck are you doing here?"

Seth's confused, almost terrified stare is met with a smug, self-assured smile. CM Punk is sitting Indian style on his hotel bed, uninvited, Seth has no clue how did the older man managed to get in, he has asked him that several times, but Punk never replies directly. This has become a habit of his as of late, to appear in his room just like that, have his way with him and then disappear again. Seth never knows when to expect that, every time he opens the door his heartbeat freezes, he prays to all gods he knows that the room would be empty, but today, apparently, all of them have collectively decided to abandon him.

"You know what? I'm not even surprised anymore. It's now a constant with you," Seth sighs dropping his bags on the floor, he's too damn exhausted from all of this; poking Punk like that most likely isn't the best idea, but he stopped caring about the punishment long ago.

"How disappointing it must be," Punk grins at him,"I should try harder next time."

"Please don't."

"Too late. I feel like I've been issued a challenge."

"Why don't you just get it over with and leave me the fuck alone, Punk?"

"Because you enjoy it, you little sick twisted fucker. _My _little sick twisted fucker."

And the most disturbing part is that Seth isn't entirely certain that Punk is wrong.

* * *

**10. Death fic, 2 and 3** (CM Punk/Randy Orton)

Whatever they say about five stages of grief is a complete bullshit, Punk decides after throwing away some stupid book his sister had supplied him with. There is now way you could categorize all of this, put it neatly into the shelves and label them; no way you could follow a neatly written plan of how to deal with loss, don't suppress your grief, they say, but that is also easier to say than do too.

Time passes, it flows like a river, deep, slow and unending, time washes over him as he stares at a blank wall and waits for the acceptance to kick it, but it never does, and the longer he sits and stares the worse it gets, although just a mere week ago he thought it cannot possibly get any worse.

He could cry and scream, he probably should've done that long time ago, and probably this is what they meant by suppressing the grief, maybe it could've been better by now if he would've let it all out.

It's a lie and he knows it.

It will never get better.

What hurts the most is how incredibly little time they had together. All those 8 years ever since they've met now seem like nothing compared with the whole life ahead of him, the whole life he has to waste without Randy.

* * *

So this was all kinds of weird and silly, but I still hope you enjoyed reading those at least half as much as I enjoyed writing them :)


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